


Vellum

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armitage Hux was a powerful man. They called him <em>The Starkiller</em> for his ability to make or break the careers of hopeful artists in the competitive New York scene. A much sought after curator at the exclusive <em>First Order</em> gallery, he'd broken into the business from out of nowhere when Snoke, the gallery's owner and a well known collector in his own right, hired him with little "real" experience. Together with Phasma, Hux has helped to shape the landscape of what's <em>in</em>. Unbeknownst to the public who flock to each show Hux curates, the gallery is in trouble. Given the option of taking in several pieces by a mysterious and bold newcomer who calls himself <em>Kylo Ren</em> or losing his job, Hux is faced with a difficult decision. Meanwhile, Hux's private life is turned upside down after a clumsy Ben Solo knocks his double espresso off the counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vellum

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by the absolutely wonderful commission style piece that [aspaceformykylux](http://aspaceformykylux.tumblr.com/) made for me over on tumblr as part of their "Blog Party" give-away. [Click right here to see it!](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/post/147757959250/aspaceformykylux-blog-party-art-2-for)
> 
> I'm going to be adding character tags as I go along, and any other tags that become relevant as I haven't _quite_ nailed down how everyone is fitting into this story yet, but I was too excited not to start writing and get a little something posted. Expect a few other ships and characters to be added to the cast!

“Absolutely not, Phasma.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“What are we, twelve?”

Hux’s attention remained fixed on his phone, expertly weaving through the crowd pushing to board the train and hooking his elbow around the steel pole in the middle of the car, thumbs still _taptaptap_ -ing away as the train lurched forward. Phasma gently shouldered her way through the tightly packed crowd, parting them nearly by awe at her height alone, and hooked her elbow just below his. They stood nearly nose to nose as the car swayed and clicked over the tracks.

“What’s your problem with it?”

“For one, it’s utterly derivative.”

“Of what?”

“It looks like he got slapped too hard with a boxed set of Tim Burton’s greatest hits with a side of _Pan’s Labyrinth_ and _Crimson Peak._ And he’s trying to legitimize it by comparing himself to Keane—and failing. Miserably. Keane’s work actually meant something, even if it _was_ dreadfully commercial—and it was that disgusting husband of hers who wrecked it anyway—if you—”

“I think the work looks interesting, even if it doesn’t have much substance.”

“It’s grotesque and juvenile.” He continued to tap away at his phone, drafting an email even while there was no service available. He grimaced when a young woman with an armful of books stumbled as the train screeched to a halt, the three loopy buns on the back of her head bouncing and her heel coming down hard on Hux’s toes. She gasped and braced herself, her hand shooting out and grasping the pole just between Hux’s and Phasma’s arms. She babbled an apology when she looked up into Hux’s face, slightly illuminated by the glow of his screen. “It’s quite alright.”

Phasma readjusted her hold on the pole to give the girl more room to wrap her hand around it.

“And while we’re at it, what the _fuck_ kind of a name is _Kylo Ren_?” The girl’s eyes grew wide and her face flushed with color. “Pardon me.”

Phasma’s lips pressed into a thin line in attempt to hold back a laugh. She jerked her head just slightly to the side, flicking a lock of glossy blonde hair away from her forehead. “Who cares what he calls himself as long as he sells? The gallery _needs_ a good sale right now. You know that as well as I do.”

“I will absolutely not stoop to that level.”

“Armitage,” Hux narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils in response. “This stuff will save both our jobs.”

“No. I’m not doing it. It absolutely does not fit with the work I’ve already pulled for the show.”

“We can make it fit.”

“No.”

“But, Snoke—“

“If our _Supreme Leader_ doesn’t think I can handle this then he should get off his ass and curate his own damned show. He hired me for a reason, Phasma. He was taking a measured risk and it’s paid off. If he doesn’t trust me now, then perhaps it’s time for me to go elsewhere.” He clicked the button on the side of his phone and the screen went dark. He slipped it purposefully into his pocket. “Back to Arkanis, maybe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t afford to keep up with the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to if you went back.” Hux squinted, running his index finger up and down under the strap across his chest, the scent of the supple, vintage leather bag just barely rising above the stale smell of the subway air whenever someone jostled against him. “We need these pieces in the show. The smaller ones, at the very least. We can intersperse them with the other work, balance out the story. We can tell him to try again with the six-footer another time.”

The train pulled into another stop and the girl who had been effectively sandwiched between them carefully extricated her arm, allowing the flood of other passengers to go by her first. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. Hux raised a brow in response, waiting. “I just want to tell you I liked your hair.”

Hux glanced down at the books clutched in her arm, _Modern Control Engineering_ visible on the cover facing him. “Thank you. I like yours as well.”

She smiled, brighter, looking impossibly young. “Have a nice day.”

Hux’s mouth quirked up on one side in response. The smooth voiceover of the train’s system told riders to stand clear of the closing doors. “I think you’re about to miss your stop.”

“Oh!” The girl whipped around, smacking Hux square in the chest with her backpack, and slipped through the doors just before they shut.

Phasma’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.

“Don’t say a word.”

Three stops further brought the pair of them back out into the sunshine.

“I’m not saying _feature_ them—just _use_ them.”

“No. And I swear to you, Phasma, if you go over my head on this, I won’t ever speak to you again.”

Phasma rolled her eyes, “Look, I’ve got a meeting in twenty.” She glanced down at her wrist and frowned, “Fifteen. Can you—“

“Grande iced vanilla, coconut milk, light ice.”

Phasma grinned and left a ghost of a red-lipped kiss on his cheek. “My treat next time.”

“Uh-huh, just like last time.”

“Technically speaking, I _did_ treat you. Just not to coffee.”

A wicked smile crossed Hux’s lips. “Go, you’re going to be late.”

Phasma waved and turned down the block, long strides emphasized by her tall heels, the morning crowds hustling to offices and subway stops parting instinctually. Hux watched her go until she turned the corner.

The inside of the Starbucks was no less crowded than the street outside. Hux resumed his email-checking as he crawled through the line, tuning out the loud conversations and sounds of blenders and steamers around him. Finally at the front of the line, the barista grinned at him.

“Doub—“

“Double espresso. Venti dark roast, no room for milk. Grande iced vanilla, light ice.”

“With coconut milk.”

“Changing it up today, is she?”

Hux shrugged. “Cutting back on sweeteners.”

The barista nodded and punched the orders into the register, motioning for Hux to flash the screen of his phone at the scanner before calling the next customer. Hux willed himself not to tap his foot impatiently, schooling himself into composure as his drinks came to the counter one at a time between other orders. Finally, the last of the cups appeared.

“Hey!”

“Yes?”

“I like the braid-thing. It suits you.”

Hux smiled in spite of himself. “Seems to be a hit today. Thank you.”

“Have a good one.”

Hux nodded and turned on his heel toward the station for sugar and milk by the door. He ripped half the paper off of a straw that was too long for the plastic cup it was going in—Phasma’s preference—and pressed it down into the cardboard holder. Reaching for a couple of sleeves, he slipped them over the hot paper cups and shoved the larger one into the holder as well. He paused, popping the lid off of the espresso and frowned at the contents.

“Dammit.”

Hux looked over his shoulder, back at the busy workers behind the counter. It wouldn’t do to bother them and he couldn’t wait any longer having meetings of his own to attend to. He set the cup down and went to reach for the carafe of cream from the counter only to find himself blocked by a wall of a man with a cell phone clenched between his ear and shoulder.

“No, mom, do not do that.” He paused, grabbing a handful of brown _Sugar in the Raw_ packets and ripping them open. Hux watched in horror as he dumped them into his coffee and dunked a wooden stirrer in, tiny droplets of hot liquid landing on the counter when he removed it and stuck it between his teeth. “I told you I wasn’t going to take that commission. I don’t care how big a contributor is or how far back Uncle Luke’s relationship with him is. I don’t agree with his politics and he creeps me the fuck out.”

Hux looked the man up and down, arms crossed haughtily and steam rising up out of his cup. Inky black waves of hair spilled in artful tousles over one brow, the sides and back of his head cut quite short with the bulk of it tamed into place with his sunglasses. Even through the close-cropped hair, Hux could tell that the random array of moles across his face extended past his hairline creating hidden constellations.

“Yeah, so? And look what he did to Grandpa. I’m not doing it. Ma—Ma! Yes, I’ll be back during winter break, I can’t make it for Thanksgiving. Yeah. I love you too.”

“Excuse—“

It happened as if in slow motion. The man’s large hand swept out toward the trash receptacle cut into the counter, bumping the piping hot double espresso as it went. Hux jumped back, gasping as the coffee splattered across the counter and splashed down toward the floor, soaking into his boots.

Anger, upset, and abject mortification cycled through Hux’s stomach and across his features. “You careless—“

“Shit! No, not you, Ma, I gotta go!” The man, for his part, looked entirely mortified himself. “I am so sorry.” He immediately grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and began to mop up the coffee from the counter, pushing the spill toward the garbage and dropping the sodden napkins inside. Hux stepped back again, trying to avoid more damage to his footwear, as he dabbed at the front of his jacket and wiped his hands. The man ducked down, the great bulk of him folding in on itself as he crouched to mop up the spill from the floor. “I’m so sorry, did you get burned?”

“No.”

“Oh man, I got your shoes— _fuck—_ those are—they’ve got red bottoms.” He looked up at Hux, his contrite expression turning nearly fearful before he narrowed his eyes incredulously. “You’re wearing ladies’ shoes.”

Hux’s face flushed with color. “Are they on my feet?” The man nodded. “I do not _identify_ as a lady, therefore, they are not ladies shoes. They are, however, ruined—thank you very much.”

The sodden black suede shimmered in the low light of the coffee shop.

“Look,” The man rose up again, unfolding himself in a fluid motion. “Can I buy you another cup of whatever that was?”

“No, I am late now, thanks to you.” Hux glanced down at his phone and shoved it down into his pocket.

“Hey!” The barista waved from behind the counter, just barely visible over the crowd. “Double espresso!” Hux stalked back over and accepted the cup with a tight smile when the barista waved off his cash. Going back to the counter, he shoved the new cup down into the holder and snatched it up into his hands.

“Espresso Guy, wait, please?”

The tall, dark fellow with the butter-fingers put a heavy hand on Hux’s shoulder and offered him a business card with the other. Hux looked at the card, the art books clutched up under his armpit catching Hux’s eye first.

“What do you want?”

“Can… can they be cleaned?”

“What?”

“The shoes. They look like… They look like kind of a big deal. Can I pay to have them cleaned?”

Hux snatched the business card from between his fingers. “Fine. May I go now?” He looked pointedly at the hand still resting on his shoulder.

The man snatched it away, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry. Again.”

“I’ll bill you.” Hux glanced down and the card before closing his hand around it. “Ben.”

Ben ginned, pleased with himself, and held the door open for Hux to pass through.

 

***

 

Phasma frowned at the condensation on the outside of her cup. “What on Earth took you so long? Were you roasting and grinding the beans yourself?”

Snoke had given him an annoyed glare when Hux appeared with the venti dark roast and placed it down on his desk. He waved Hux off and turned back to the computer screen and the call he’d turned on to speaker.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I took care of your ten o’clock already. They paid for the sculpture and scheduled another consult. They’re determined to have you curate their personal collection—even if it is one piece at a time.”

“I’ve already explained to them that my contract here prevents me from doing anything freelance.”

“Hey, Snoke can’t say anything about a couple of single pieces. All the sales are going through _First Order_ anyway, so he’s getting a piece of the pie.” She plucked the half-wrapper off of her straw and pursed her lips around it, closing her eyes in satisfaction when she took a sip.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Phasma nodded and turned back to her work, giving him a thumbs up rather than stop the lazy pull of chilly flavored coffee between her lips.

“Hux?”

He poked his head back into the doorway, brows raised questioningly.

Phasma batted her lashes and pulled the file that was laying on her desk into her arms to clutch against her chest. “I like your hair.”

He barked out a laugh and extended his arm behind himself as he walked away, an affectionate one-fingered salute in the air.

“Love you too, darling.” Phasma’s full-bellied laugh carried down the hall.

Hux slouched down in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him, looking forlornly at his boots. They were _kind of a big deal_ , and not just because of what brand they happened to be. To Hux, at least. He’d purchased them with his first big sales commission from the gallery. They were a point of personal pride.

And they’d made his father practically foam at the mouth in outrage nearly as much as Hux’s acceptance letter from Columbia had. _They’re just shoes, Commandant._

Hux slipped the boots off and padded across the cold hardwood in red-stockinged feet. He went to the closet, a suit in a garment bag and a pair of dress shoes in a box for when he didn’t have time to go home and dress for a show. He tucked the coffee-stained boots away, out of sight out of mind, and brought the shiny patent dress shoes back to his desk.

 

***

 

“Ben? Is that you?”

Rey slid out from beneath the car, grease smeared across her face and arms, when Ben returned home late that evening.

“You’re still working on that piece of garbage?”

“The _Millennium Falcon_ is not a piece of garbage.” Something under the old muscle car clanged and hit the floor as she sat up, putting a grimy hand out to Ben for help. “Okay.” She groaned and stood, accepting the towel he tossed her to wipe her hands off with. “It’s a piece of garbage. But I’m going to get it running again, you’ll see.”

“How was school? You had that exam today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I think I did okay.” They moved from the garage into the house. Rey trudged up the stairs, Ben following close behind, meaning to head for his room to put his things down before he ordered them something for dinner. “Dad dropped off the rest of the rent, you just missed him.”

“How tragic.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. The point of moving so far away from home had been to get _away_ from his family. Somehow, Rey’s acceptance to the Mechanical Engineering program at Columbia, and his offer of a place to stay rather than paying for a dorm and a meal plan, had brought them all closer.

“He says that nearly four thousand dollars a month is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Well, that gets you a place to work on that hunk of junk and a bedroom to yourself. So don’t knock it.”

“I’m not complaining.”

At the time he’d agreed to let her stay, he’d had another room mate. Avaah had left when the lease was up, moving on to greener pastures with another of what Ben had thought was their close-knit group. Uncle Luke had figured out that Ben had been trying to carry the thirty-five-a-month rent on his own after they’d renewed the lease with Rey and wouldn’t hear of it.

“I really don’t understand what happened between you two, Ben.”

“You don’t need to.”

“He just wants what’s best for you.”

“Rey, I’m not having this conversation.” She seemed to deflate, stopping near the bathroom door. “What do you want to eat?”

“Pizza. With anchovies.”

Ben gagged at the thought. “Two pizzas it is then.”

Later, a litter of crusts and empty soda cans across the kitchen table between them and Rey’s feet propped up on the corner in food-induced lethargy, she attempted to bring up sore subjects once again.

“Why don’t you work on the _Falcon_ with me tomorrow? When you were a kid you—“

“Rey, please. I’m begging you.”

“I just don’t understand it, Ben.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncle Han gave _you_ that car.”

“And I gave it to you.”

“No, I got it back when you sold it off to Unkar Plutt for parts.”

“Technicality.”

Rey made a face and picked at a piece of crust. It always amazed Ben that she ate as if she’d never see food again, even after so many years of being a part of the Skywalker clan. “Did you have classes today?”

Ben shook his head. “No, I had an early meeting with a client. Big mural in an office building.”

“Oh. In Manhattan?” Ben nodded and stood, pushing crusts into the empty box from the table. “I would have gotten up early and gone in with you.” He shrugged and continued clearing the table, Rey’s eyes tracking him thoughtfully through the small dining area and into the kitchen. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?” He braced himself for whatever she was about to say. The wort case scenario popped into his head—she’d invited the family over for the weekend. Either that or she was moving out. That boyfriend of hers had been making hints about getting a place together. Maybe they hadn’t gone as much over Rey’s head as he’d thought.

As much as Ben put up a front of total harassment at her presence, he didn’t think he wanted her to leave.

“Did you submit some stuff to a gallery?”

Ben whipped his body around, a sudden and frantic nervousness upsetting the large amount of cheese and dough in his stomach. “Why? Did I miss a call? Was there mail?” The corners of the cardboard container of ice cream he’d taken out of the freezer crunched in his grip.

“Calm down! Nothing like that.”

“Then _what_ , Rey?”

“Well, I was on the train this morning and I think some people were talking about you.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, that name you use. Ky—“

“Don’t! You’ll jinx it.”

Rey rolled her eyes and then became serious. “Well, they seemed like they were having a disagreement.”

“About?”

“The woman, she thought they should put you in whatever show they’re putting together. That your work will sell.”

“And?”

“The guy she was with didn’t seem to agree.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, Ben, don’t—“

“What did he say?” Each word seemed to have its own punctuation. Rey sighed and repeated what she’d heard the man on the train say—how derivative and juvenile his work was, what he’d compared it to.

“You didn’t submit those watercolors you showed me, did you?”

Ben shook his head. “No. I didn’t.” He put the container of ice cream down on the counter. “I think I’m going to hit the hay. Don’t stay up too late—you know I don’t like you out in the garage by yourself at night.”

“Ben, I—“

“Good night.”

Ben trudged up the stairs, forlorn. He closed his bedroom door behind himself and stood there for a moment, body tense and eyes prickling with unbidden tears. He turned and opened the door again, slamming it shut as hard as he dared—always conscious of the security deposit the landlord held over his head. He shuddered and sat down on the floor where he was, hands covering his flushed face.

 

***

 

Hux sighed and sank into bed, flexing his toes back to life after having been pinched in his dress shoes all day. He hadn’t had time to drop his boots off to be cleaned. They remained stained and sad-looking in a paper shopping bag near the front door.

He stretched and rubbed his face down into the cool pillows, yellow light from the streetlamp outside filtering in through his curtains to light the room. He turned, eyes falling on the contents of his pants pockets that he’d emptied onto the night stand, the business card from the careless oaf who’d spilled his drink amongst the day’s debris.

Stretching down, he picked up his laptop from the floor and powered it on, plucking the card up while he waited.

 

 

> _Ben Solo_
> 
> _Freelance – Multimedia_
> 
> _Contact for commission rates & availability_

It was a smart looking card, the stock as creamy and smooth as the color suggested. The font a dark red that appeared almost black. The reverse had a miniature print of what Hux could only assume was his own work, a stormy skied watercolor painting with his various websites—a portfolio and a print store and a blog—and his email address printed in the creamy white of the stock on the reverse side.

The orange cat who haunted the apartment jumped up onto the bed, silently slinking over to inspect what was in his hands before curling up close to the keyboard of the computer and ignoring him. Hux had to admit, the little example was quite good. The shapes suggested the pillowy softness of a cloud while the colors suggested something much more violent and hard. How someone who seemed so absent-minded and clumsy had achieved anything close to it was impressive.

His interest was piqued.

“Alright, Solo.” Hux typed in the address for the first of the websites. “Let’s see what you’re all about.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find all of my Star Wars nonsense [over here at my sideblog on tumblr.](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/) That'll be where I'm compiling inspo/mood boards for my WIPs, reblogging SW content, and archiving all the lovely art that's been done for my fic and of my Knight of Ren OC, Avaah.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here are the boots Ben ruins. They're fab. I'm surprised Hux wasn't more furious.](http://us.christianlouboutin.com/us_en/shop/women/tiagadaboot.html)


End file.
